


of safety and being safe

by no_username_requiered



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Trauma, eve being there to keep her safe, is this veering into mommy kink?, or will this be more just eve keeping v and o safe and overriding her bad childhood memories?, tw childhood abuse, v having flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_username_requiered/pseuds/no_username_requiered
Summary: Villanelle reflects on her (traumatic) childhood and has a panic attack/flashbackread the tags please, in case you’re triggered by any of the mentioned above
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95





	1. V / O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (side note: I feel like Villanelle isn’t really villanelle anymore but also not oksana, so I’m going with V and O instead)

As a child, you have never really felt sad. At least that’s what everybody told you. Everybody always dictated what you are, feeling and doing and how you’re behaving. So you don’t think you ever felt sad. Because for the most part you’re just trying to forget about her and your past. In the end, keeping Oksana safe has always been your priority. 

As you’re laying in bed now, reflecting on the words your mother has said to you shortly before you killed her and set the house on fire... you think that yeah, maybe you’ve been sad all your life. And that eventually just felt like normalcy.

 _You never cried._

It echoes in your mind. You know she was just twisting ~~her~~ your shared reality into what was most beneficial for her own narrative. She’s always done that. Manipulating and twisting your every word so she was always the victim by the end of any conversation. And she made everyone else out to be the abuser.

If only everyone knew.

She’d said that you’d never cried.

But you cried. And you know she’s heard you cry every night, when you were alone in your room, hiding in your closet or under your bed. You know that she’s heard you cry as she’d locked you into the shed on cold nights. Without food or water, stripping you of sense of time and self.

You know that she’s heard you cry, saw you cry, _made_ you cry. Just so that she could yell at you to “stop fucking crying, you monster”. And when you didn’t stop, she made you stop by slapping you hard, by screaming even more, by kicking you.

By hurting you.

And hurting you.

And hurting you.

You _did_ cry.

You are crying now as you remember your childhood, just now realizing how unsafe you truly were. How neglected and mistreated. You never spoke about it out loud, only a secret for you and you alone, to protect your younger self. No one would have ever believe you when you spoke out about it anyway.

But this thing you are feeling now, this pressure in your stomach and your throat, this happens a lot, too. 

Eve explained that they are called flashbacks. They happened a lot when you were in prison but you’d learnt how to push them away. And then you’ve seen your mother again, who you’ve thought was dead and these flashbacks have become even worse than before.

You are laying in bed, your girlfriend’s body next to yours, and her arms are holding you close and suddenly, suddenly you can’t breathe anymore. You are feeling caged and unsafe again. 

You gasp for air, as quietly as possible, as to not wake Eve up. But her arms feel too heavy, you’re too aware of everything, and everything feels crushing and you try and push the arms off of you. You need to get them off of you.

Eve holds on too tight to you.

You try to push your mother’s arms away from you, knowing they only mean harm. Sharp like blades, cutting into you with every word spoken. And all you want is to run into your room and crawl under your bed and cry and push yourself in the corner where she can’t reach you.

Can’t harm you. 

You’re feeling so small and vulnerable and you can’t, you can’t get away from the arms. She won’t loosen her grip.

You hear her laughing at you, taunting you, and you manage to get free and you curl up in yourself while pushing farther into the corner of the room. 

Where you cry.

You’re sad and unsafe and you can’t protect your younger self anymore and you cry even more for letting yourself down.

You whimper. And then you hear Eve’s voice.

“Hey, hey V. What’s wrong?”

You can’t speak so you just shake your head. You want to say that you feel small and unsafe, speaking will get you punished and you’re scared.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek and you scream. You press yourself further into the wall and a part of your brain tells you that it’s not your mother, that it’s Eve. But a louder part tells you to get away. Get away, get away, get away!

“Oksana?” And you don’t know why— but there’s a wave of calmness washing over you. You open your eyes then, and you come face to face with Eve. And you exhale. You cry even more now, but these tears feel different. 

You realize that you’re naked, under your kitchen table, your back pressed into one of the legs and you’re freezing. 

“Can you look at me?” Eve asks and you trust her so you do. “Good girl.” You feel even calmer. “Can I hold you?”

You start to panic again and it takes you a minute to evaluate all of your choices and, and—

“You can say no,” she tells you and it makes you feel better again. Still, she looks at you and you know she’s expecting an answer.

“Eve?” You ask instead, “can you hold me, please?” And you sound so small, so vulnerable. But she doesn’t seem to mind as she opens her arms, waiting for you to come to her. 

It takes you another minute but when you muster up enough courage you crawl into her arms, shivering. You want to apologize but she just holds you tight and tells you that it’s okay.


	2. Eve

You are woken up by long fingers, desperately trying to lift your arm up. Actually, you think it’s a dream at first but you wake up quickly to find Villanelle struggling with your limb. 

Her breathing is labored, heavy yet quick and she’s sweating and shaking all over. You decide to pull your arm away and set her free and she’s leaping out of the bed and stumbling away before you have a chance to ask her what’s wrong. 

Its not the first night you’ve observed this. Not the second or third time either. You’d need more than two hands to count how often this has happened since she came with you after the night on the bridge. 

You always find yourself wondering what’s going through her mind when you’re pulled out of sleep like this. You’re wondering if this had been happening even before the bridge and most of all, if she ever had anyone who cared enough to help her through this. 

Admittedly, you’ve not helped her through it yet either. You just know that she doesn’t want to talk about it because she pretends like it never happened when she returns to bed. Pretends like she’s just gotten a glass of water before crawling back under the blanket and clinging to you like you’re her lifeline. You just pretend that you’re still sleeping. That’s what she thinks after all. 

Though you’ve explained to her once that what she’s experiencing might be flashbacks and that she has to remind herself that they’re not real if she’s able to. Actually, that’s how you know she doesn’t want to talk about it because she’d averted her gaze and didn’t talk to you for almost 24 hours. 

Tonight, tonight feels different though. She’s never tried to get away as hastily, instead always made sure that she’s not woken you up. But tonight she seemed to only want to get away. As far away as possible. 

There’s sobs and whimpering coming from one of the adjacent rooms and it’s all it takes for you to stand up. On the one hand, you’re trying to respect her boundaries but on the other, her cries for help have never been this heartbreaking. You pull one of your sweaters over your body and then follow the sounds she’s making. Your naked feet make quiet noises on the hardwood floor and before you know it, you’re kneeling on the cold kitchen tiles, looking at your girlfriend. 

She must be freezing, you think. Because you already are but you’re also wearing a sweater. 

“Hey, hey V. What’s wrong with you?” You ask. It’s a fruitless attempt and you’d known that before you asked. She only shakes her head, almost violently and her eyes are screwed shut. She’s biting her lower lip and you think that if she’s not stopping in the next minute or so, she’ll surely draw blood. 

You want to ease her bottom lip away from her teeth, put a hand to her cheek and swipe your thumb over her cheekbone. 

And then she’s screaming bloody murder. She’s screaming like her life is in serious danger and pushes her body even further away from you. Her body is shaking and you’re not sure if it’s from the anxiety, borderline panic, or the cold. Maybe a mix of both. 

She’s whimpering now, sobbing, crying even more. And you’re trying to tell her that _V, you’re okay. This isn’t real_ and _Villanelle, it’s me, Eve_ but she doesn’t seem to hear or want to hear you.

“Oksana?” You try instead and she opens her eyes and looks at you and exhales. Then smiles and sobs again. You ponder how to go from here as she’s looking down her body, realizing that she’s still naked and starts shivering. 

“Can you look at me?” You ask her then and when she does you’re happy she’s back with you. “Good girl,” the praise slips before you know it. She loves when you tell her how great she is during sex, and hope it’s as applicable now. “Can I hold you?” 

It’s the wrong question, you can see it in her eyes so you immediately tell that she can say no of course. You watch her as she’s going through all possible scenarios in her head. Wait for an answer patiently. 

“Eve,” she asks then and you feel relieved. “Can you hold me, please?” And she’s never sounded so small and vulnerable and you want to cry because this really isn’t Villanelle who is talking to you right now, but it _is_ Villanelle trusting you to take care of her anyways. 

You open your arms, still showing her that she has the power to decide if she actually wants to be held by you and when she’s in your arms you feel extremely relieved. 

She’s still shivering and her body feels cold against your skin. She’s still sweaty and her face is puffy and tear streaked. And you find that you just want to take care of her so you get up and lead her to the bathroom. She’s holding your hand, still feeling small. She’s like a frightened child and it pains you to see her like this. 

You sit her down on the toilet seat and when you move to turn on the faucets by the bathtub, she clings to you, afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. 

You understand then that that’s what she’s been doing whenever she returned to bed after one of her episodes. It’s a silent cry for help. A plea for reassurance that you won’t go anywhere, even if she tries to shoot you again. 

“It’s okay, O,” you tell her while looking into her eyes. “I’m staying right here, yes? I just need you to let go for a minute so I can run you a bath.” 

She still only looks at you, so quiet when she’s in this headspace and her eyes fill with tears again, instantly. She lets go nonetheless and you only turn your body 90 degrees to the left so you can turn the faucets on. 

When the water runs, you grab a towel from behind you and wrap her up in it to keep her warm while you’re waiting. She’s not looking at you again so you try to distract her by explaining to her what you’re planning to do. 

I just want to clean your body and wash your hair, you explain while wiping a stray tear fro her face. It feels better to be clean than sticky and the water will heat her up nicely, too. 

When the tub is filled enough you unwrap her from the towel and help her into the water. She flinches and you can imagine that the warm water stings against her cold skin. When she’s sitting down she pulls her legs to her chest almost immediately. 

Again, you just want to know what’s wrong. Want to know everything she’s thinking right now, want to help but judging by how little she’s been speaking since her episode, you’re sure you won’t get an answer this time either. 

“I’m gonna wash your hair now, okay?” You ask. And she only nods. Hesitant, looking at you with fearful eyes and then she whispers that her mother only helped her in the bathroom once and that _Mama almost drowned me_. 

You grip the lip of the bathtub with so much force that the skin turns white and you feel yourself shaking and hear yourself breathing with force but you’re pulled out of it when Oksana apologizes to you for telling you. 

No, you reply. No. It’s not your fault, you say. Because it isn’t. You tell her that you want to kill her mother for doing these terrible things to you and she reveals that she’s already done that. 

The admission washes over you with an unexpected calmness. Good, you tell her. Now she can’t harm you anymore. 

You wash her hair in silence, take extra time and extra good care of it. You’re gentle and kiss her cheek when you’ve finished washing out her conditioner. She seems lighter now, too. Giggles are followed by yawns immediately and you help her out if the water. 

You take extra time and care with drying her off, too. Then pull the sweater you’ve been wearing over your head and hand it to her. It’s her favorite one and she puts it on immediately. You kiss her cheek again, grab the blow dryer and the hair brush and then lead her back to the bedroom. You sit her down on the bed then, turn the blow dryer on and carefully, gently start brushing her hair. 

It takes a while to dry it completely but still not as long as it would take for yours to dry. When you’re finished and turn the dryer off, when you put the brush aside, you card through the strands with your fingers and whisper that it feels like silk. 

She turns around and kisses you, then hugs you for a long time. You know it’s her way of saying thank you and I love you, still scared of you repeating what you’d replied in Rome. You kiss the crown of her head before getting up to turn off the lights. 

When you’re both covered under the blanket, she clings to you again, her head tucked between your collarbone and chin and you intertwine one of your hands with hers. 

“I love you,” you tell her. And in the quietness of the room you can hear her say it back. Four whispered words, almost no sound. Not meant to be heard. And you were right, you think. Maybe she’s been waiting for you to say it all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that’s it folx, sorry not sorry, I hope you’ve enjoyed 💙

**Author's Note:**

> just something I’ve found in my drafts from mid July 
> 
> will be at least 2 parts of not more. just tell me if you want to see specific things, in open to almost all suggestions
> 
> I’d love if you leave kudos and comments 💙


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